


everything under control (no really)

by Elenothar



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Humor, Kidnapping, Multi, diplomatic missions, leia knows what's up, poe's task is basically to look good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts when General Leia asks him to accompany her on a diplomatic mission to Corellia. Except that’s not quite true because somehow Poe’s ‘accidentally’ been assigned to every single one of their recruitment drives for years now.</p><p>The one in which Poe finds out that he apparently helps the Resistance’s diplomatic efforts by being hot and is not amused. (Everyone else is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything under control (no really)

**Author's Note:**

> My first TFA fic! Featuring OT3 because they'll have to pry that dynamic out of my cold dead hands.

 

-

It starts when General Leia asks him to accompany her on a diplomatic mission to Corellia. Except that’s not quite true because somehow Poe’s ‘accidentally’ been assigned to every single one of their recruitment drives for years now. Naïvely he hadn’t really questioned it at the time, despite Blue Squadron supposedly switching off on the cushy tasks. Now there are no more open recruitment drives – the First Order’s power has grown too strong – but there _are_ secret diplomatic missions to allies and potential allies. Missions which Poe ordinarily would have little to do with except occasionally flying escort.

This is where the suspicion comes in, as he attends a long (boring) briefing about how they’re going to send General Leia to Corellia to ask nicely (read: beg) for some more funds ,and he’s wondering throughout what he’s even doing in the briefing. Right at the end as everyone files out, the General calls, “Dameron? Pack your things, you’re coming with me.”

Poe just about manages not to walk into the doorframe in his distraction.

“With respect, General, why am _I_ going on this mission? I have no diplomatic training.”

If Poe hadn’t spent an almost embarrassing amount of time watching any and all videos of Leia Organa’s speeches and official appearances on the holonet until he could see them in his sleep, he wouldn’t even have noticed the split second of hesitation that precedes her answer. “Poe, it isn’t a secret that you’re one of our best. In a few years we’ll need new leadership and frankly you’re at the top of the list of likely candidates.”

He refuses to let either the warm rush of pride or the imminent panic at the thought of losing his squadron (even for a promotion) deter him from his original question.

“So I’m supposed to observe you in action and hopefully learn from the experience?”

She nods, but there’s still something niggling at the back of his mind. “But that’s not quite it, is it?”

General Leia looks as apologetic as she ever gets. “People may also have taken notice of your… assets.” When Poe just stares at her blankly because the only assets he’s aware of having are his piloting skills, she sighs. “Recruitment drives were always more successful with you along. By quite a margin.”

It takes a moment, but the credit eventually drops. Poe scowls. “You want me on this mission stand there, do nothing, _and look ornamental_?”

She pats his arm sympathetically. “I’m sure you’ll be very good at it.”

-

When he goes to complain about this entire affair, he finds his partners considerably less sympathetic than he was hoping for. The prolonged laughter is certainly a clue.

“It was only a matter of time, really,” Finn says, wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes. Rey is still giggling to herself from where she’s curled around her training staff. (Something about ‘Jedi always knowing where their weapon is’. Poe hadn’t asked.)

Poe glares at them grumpily even as he flops onto the bed next to them. “It’s not funny. I’m an X-Wing pilot. I’ve got _skills_.”

Finn pats him on the shoulder, clearly trying hard to look sympathetic. “We know, love. You’re the best pilot of the Resistance. Even if you do also look dashing enough to turn diplomatic heads.”

“Why did everyone else know about this before me?” Poe asks plaintively, trying very hard not to bury his face in his pillow in a fit of pique.

“Because you can be a bit thick, Dameron,” Rey says and avoids the swat he aims at the back of her head because life is unfair and she’s got awesome Jedi powers that the rest of them mere mortal beings can only dream of.

“And everyone else has eyes in their heads,” Finn adds helpfully. “Your _ass_ ets are a bit hard to miss.”

“Why does everyone keep saying assets?” Poe explodes. “It’s not even a _good_ pun, certainly not after the hundredth blasted time!”

That just sets them off laughing again.

Now he does bury his face in his pillow, maturity be damned.

“See if either of you gets laid tonight,” he says, though the pillow in his face possibly slightly diminishes the dramatic effect.

-

Two days later, their ship is in orbit around Corellia and General Leia has cornered him in the cockpit. It's not like he’s been avoiding her – the shuttle is far too small for that, especially with the other two members of their diplomatic party on board – but this whole thing is making him more uncomfortable than he can remember being since his first botched mission.

“Stop looking so worried, Poe,” she says, features less stern than usual and a little more like the friend of his mother he remembers from his childhood.

“Easy for you to say, sir,” he mumbles. “You haven’t just been thrown in the deep end of diplomatic ventures.”

“Don’t sweat it, kiddo. All you’re supposed to do is stick to my side and not say anything unless I expressly tell you to.” General Leia shoots him a wry smile. “Believe me, I don’t want you to be negotiating anything. The Corellians are high-tempered enough as it is.”

Clearly his expression doesn’t show any relief at her words, for she adds, “Relax, they’re not going to bite you.”

Poe isn’t convinced. The Corellians he’s met, first and foremost Han Solo, all seemed to exude a certain… predatory instinct. The General clearly read that thought from his expression, for she taps a thoughtful finger to her lips. “On the other hand, they _might_. You never know with Corellians.”

“Thanks for that, General,” he says sourly.

It’s the first time he’s seen her smirk, an expression that throws the resemblance between her and her late husband into stark relief. With a pat on his shoulder that he really hopes isn’t meant to be as patronizing as it feels, she leaves him to the landing preparations.

-

Poe’s standing in a large meeting hall in Coronet City, sweating slightly in his restrictive dress uniform. There’re a _lot_ of people looking at him. And not in the ‘awaiting your orders’ way that he can just about cope with. He doesn’t need to glance to the right to see that General Leia is getting even more attention and yet looks calmly serene in a way that is seriously enviable.

They’re on the third official speech and Corellians have a reputation for getting things done _quickly_. Ye Gods.

The last speech finishes to a smattering of applause; suddenly the game changes and Poe finds himself dragged in the General’s wake as she starts mingling with Corellia’s rich and famous. Good thing the Corellians have as little love for the First Order as they did for the Empire – and even less regard for any kind of authority – because they’re attracting a hell of a lot of attention right now.

Considering his only role in the proceedings is to stand like a tall, supposedly ornamental shadow behind the General, there’re still a lot of people regarding him with intent. It’s only a matter of time before he gets pulled to the side, but he still jumps when an elderly lady, clad in sensible clothes, her grey hair pulled together in a simple braid at the back of her head gets a hold of his arm.

Before Poe knows it, he’s been expertly whisked out of sight to the edge of the room. He might’ve protested if it wasn’t such a relief to be out of the throng of bodies. Poe likes a small crowd now and then, but this _mass_ of people is just uncomfortable.

The Corellian matriarch looks him up and down. “So you’re the one who destroyed Starkiller.”

“Not without help,” he says because there’re things one should just be honest about.

She shrugs. “There’s always someone else around.”

There’s a short pause in which he desperately tries to come up with something – anything – to say, then she comments, sounding almost sly, “ _And_ they say you have trouble with authority.”

Poe can’t help the mortified blush that spreads over his face. He gets the impression that the matriarch would’ve cackled if they weren’t in what passes as polite company on Corellia. The sternness in her face transforms into a smirk and she winks at him. “We Corellians have always liked a flyboy. You’ll do fine, Commander Dameron.”

She leaves him standing there, baffled and confused and feeling like he’s just passed a test that he didn’t even begin to understand.

Nothing nearly as interesting happens over the next three days – just lots and lots of talking that mostly goes over his head, though he does pay close attention to the currents of atmosphere _just in case_ – which makes him glad that he’d figured out the trick to looking attentive while bored out of his mind long ago.

Truthfully, he ends up finding the entire experience more baffling than anything else. On the other hand he gets to see General Leia ruthlessly decimate anyone who opposes her opinions, which definitely makes the whole thing worth it.

(When she asks him later what exactly he’d said to the Director of CorSec to win her over, Poe can only shrug helplessly.)

-

It doesn’t end there.

Only a few weeks later, Poe’s called to another briefing about an upcoming diplomatic trip and his stomach reflexively sinks. He’d hoped that the mission to Corellia was a one-off, but clearly he’d only been deluding himself.

This time the General doesn’t even try to look sympathetic when handing him the assignment. He scans the text – Gorithia, highly independent, not part of the New Republic or the First Order, humanoids with beaked heads – and once again doesn’t find any reason as to why _he_ should be there. Doesn’t look like the Gorith go in for flying much.

General Leia heads off his imminent protest. “The Gorith will like you. They have a thing for hair.”

It could either be a compliment or a comment about the bird’s nest he routinely has on his head, and Poe can’t help the reflexive pat at his curls. “That doesn’t exactly make me enthusiastic, sir.”

“Lucky for you, diplomacy isn’t at all about enthusiasm,” she says dryly. “Patience for bullshit and stubbornness is far more important, and I know for a fact that you’ve got both of those, considering what squadron you’re in charge of.”

He opens his mouth to protest that his squadron is entirely professional where it counts – and also the best, thank you very much – then notices the amused glint in her eyes and shuts it again.

“Lucky me indeed,” he says, entirely deadpan, and is rewarded with one of the General’s rare laughs.

“You know, Dameron, you’re _wasted_ as a fighter pilot,” she tells him, which just proves that she’s never been one, but then she continues, “Your mother would’ve been proud.”

He suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

-

Privately Poe thinks that the Gorith’s fascination with hair might be due to not having any themselves. And _of course_ they seem to like his hair specifically – though they might just be too intimidated by the General to try and pat _her_ elegantly braided hair. After two days of random strangers sneaking a grab at his locks, he’s starting to consider cultivating an intimidating persona himself (even if he’s been reliable informed that he’s just about as intimidating as a puppy when he’s not in the cockpit of a starfighter). He certainly feels like scowling constantly, but the emergency ‘Diplomacy 101: How to not fuck this up immediately’ briefing package had underlined ‘always maintain a pleasant expression’. Twice. His smile probably looks a little forced but that’s the best he can do when being pawed at by lots of strangers.

General Leia, he realizes grumpily, seems to find the whole thing more amusing than anything else. Poe’s starting to wonder whether she hasn’t just been dreadfully bored on these diplomatic trips and is now dragging him along for the sheer entertainment value.

-

After the fifth such mission, Poe has learned three things:

  1. He’s never going to be a great diplomat. Oh, he could probably weasel his way through with a combination of charm and bulldozing techniques, but the politics involved in every blasted thing make his head hurt. Give him a space battle any time.
  2. True love is dead. In fact it’s so dead it’s probably been buried for a century. On five missions, he’d got four – _four_ – proposals. He hadn’t even met, let alone talked to, three of the people offering their hand in marriage.
  3. Nothing he’s ever heard about General Leia was exaggerated. She is a badass who takes no shit from _anyone_ and can cut through diplomatic double-speak – and general bullshit – with the precision and brute force of a vibroaxe.



-

On his sixth diplomatic mission Poe gets kidnapped in perhaps the most embarrassing way possible. In his defense, the ruling monarchy _had_ welcomed them with open arms and a big feast and there’d not been a sense of danger at all. Even General Leia had seemed relaxed, smiling and telling a few stories of the olden days that everyone listened to with rapt attention. Poe had been seated next to Prince Alarin, which was apparently a great honour, and the lad had seemed nice enough, if a bit scatterbrained. He’d gone to sleep with a full belly, content that this trip wouldn’t be as uncomfortable as the one to Gorithia, and stuck to the General as ordered throughout the initial talks the next morning.

Then he’d made his fatal mistake – he’d gone to the fresher. Alone.

-

Poe wakes up with a splitting, stun bolt-induced headache. Groaning, he rubs a hand over his forehead, which doesn’t help but at least gives him the motivation to open his eyes anyway. The last thing he remembers is getting shot in the hallway after coming out of the fresher – this makes waking up unrestrained on what feels like a comfortable bed something of a surprise.

The room looks rather cozy for a prison. It’s plushly decorated and there’s food and drink waiting on a nearby table. Poe sits up gingerly because every movement makes his head feel like there’s a full-blown bantha stampede in progress behind his eyes. There’s no one else in the room, which means, theoretically, that it should be safe to attempt to get out of it.

Predictably the door is locked and the keypad refuses to react to any of his attempts to tell it to open the door. Mumbling vexedly under his breath, he takes a closer look. It’s a sloppy design, and if he can just unscrew the interface and get to the cabling beneath, he’d bet his X-Wing he’ll be able to get out of here.

Poe is halfway to rigging the door controls when there’s the sound of a blastershot right outside. He curses as the cables he was working on spark madly, but is distracted from his burnt fingertips by the door opening.

For a moment all he can see from where he’s kneeling off to the side of the doorway is the tip of a blaster, then General Leia steps into the room. If he wasn’t so embarrassed at having to be rescued the fierce expression on her face would probably be enough to make him swoon just a little.

She nods at him, briskly turning around to cover the door. “Time for sitting on your ass is over, Dameron. You hurt?”

“No, sir,” he says, equally brisk, and rises to his feet. “They just stunned me.”

He can _hear_ her teeth gritting together. “ _Not_ a wise move on their part, going after one of my own.”

All right, so Poe isn’t going to deny that this is very close to an enduring childhood fantasy of his. Being rescued by Princess Leia? Yeah, his ten year old self was all over that.

Not quite as fun now that he’s supposed to be a capable grown-up, admittedly.

“Plan, sir?”

She throws him a blaster, gaze tinged with amusement and perhaps a little spark of excitement. With a general’s duties she doesn’t get to do this very often anymore, but before this Poe hadn’t realized that she might _miss_ it. “Get out of here and try not to shoot too many people on the way.”

Long habit makes him quickly check the blaster over, familiarizing himself with the controls. He nods. “Works for me.”

-

In the end they don’t even have to shoot anyone. There might’ve been a tiny little explosion, but General Leia has already told him to deny any and all involvement in that ‘electrical malfunction’ so deny it he will.

Strapped into the copilot seat of their small craft, the General watches the stars streak as they jump into hyperspace.

“They did offer us a base,” she says, out of the blue.

“What’s the catch?” Poe asks, because if it were that simple they’d still be down there negotiating terms, kidnapping attempt or no kidnapping attempt.

She glances at him sidelong. “In exchange for you. The prince was apparently quite taken.”

He just about manages to hide his wince. That would be a bleak future, and were sacrifice and duty not already written into his blood he’d be protesting at the mere thought of it. Instead he asks calmly, “Would you agree?”

“Not unless we get very, very desperate,” she assures him, which undershoots reassuring by about a parsec.

-

Finn is howling with laughter, even Rey is giggling, and Poe thinks rather sourly that he should’ve seen this coming.

“Let me hear this again,” Finn gets out between bouts of laughter, “you were _kidnapped_ because some prince thought you were a hot piece of ass.”

“I didn’t put it like _that_ ,” Poe grumbles, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. “Besides I got out.”

“With General Organa’s help,” Rey points out, and then sticks out her tongue at him in response to Poe’s affronted face.

Sometimes these two make him feel far too old.

“I will never consider myself above the General’s help,” he says with dignity, which is mostly true. His father used to tease him about his starry-eyed worship of the Rebellion’s Princess, and the years have done little to dull his enthusiasm.

Finn is nodding along to his words. “If I had to choose anyone to get saved by it would be her.”

Poe smiles at him. He remembers Leia taking Finn aside a few times during his convalescence – he still doesn’t know what they talked about, but Finn had always come out of those meeting quietly glowing, so he figures that’s okay.

“Hey, what about us?” Rey wants to know.

Now it’s Finn’s turn to smile, that large dopey one that Poe absolutely _adores_. “You two wouldn’t have let me get caught without a fight in the first place, so I assume you’re in need of rescuing right along with me.”

“Sounds accurate,” Poe says, yawning around his bite of bread. Apparently in his absence Finn had decided baking would be a good hobby to pursue and the results are delicious. Possibly because Finn approaches any new skill with a single-mindedness bordering on obsession until he’s mastered it. Poe doesn’t like to think about why, but learning things seems to make Finn happy so he doesn’t bring it up.

“Except for the bit where you think I’d let myself get captured,” Rey points out. “I’m far more sensible about these things than you two.”

“Also accurate,” Poe says, but his mood is dipping. “Still, there are ways for even the best of us to be brought low.”

For a moment dark, gleaming hallways loom at the edges of his mind, but any such gloomy thoughts aren’t strong enough to survive the combined force of light that are Rey and Finn. Before he knows it, he has two warm bodies bracketing him on the bed and there’re gentle hands stroking his hair.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Rey murmurs, fiercely intent, and Poe can feel Finn nodding against his collarbone.

There is a pause.

“… not even when princes want to kidnap you.”

Poe groans.

 


End file.
